


One Remedy for Gold Sickness (or maybe two)

by randi2204



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: Thorin is in the throes of gold sickness.  Bilbo has had quite enough of that, thank you, but luckily for his sanity, he knows a cure.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 180





	One Remedy for Gold Sickness (or maybe two)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The characters here belong to J.R.R Tolkien, his estate, and heirs. Not mine, no money.

“How dare they?” Thorin seethed, pacing furiously by the wall of rubble that his dwarves had constructed to block the entrance to the mountain. “To come here in force, weapon in one hand, while holding the other out like they _deserve_ coin! _My_ coin! _My_ gold!” He stopped, suddenly wary. “My gold,” he whispered, fingers clenching on nothing. “I must make sure…” He stalked away, intending to return to the treasury. If the dragon had done nothing else, at least it had gathered all the gold in Erebor in once place.

“Thorin?”

The voice brought him up short just as he was about to re-enter the mountain proper, and he turned toward it, knowing that his face softened. As much as he needed to know that his treasure was safe, he couldn’t ignore that voice.

It was Bilbo. He stood some few feet away, alone, and dimly, Thorin recalled sending the rest of the Company off to find weapons and armor. But the hobbit was frowning, and Thorin began to feel a little concerned. After all, he didn’t like it when Bilbo was upset with him, and it certainly seemed as if he was now.

“Bilbo?” He took a step toward him, but stopped, eyes widening, when Bilbo took a matching step away. _Have I said or done something to frighten him?_ he asked himself. “What…”

“No, no,” Bilbo said, making a motion with his hand like he was pushing Thorin away. “No, just… just stay there a moment.”

“Is something wrong?”

Bilbo smiled, but it didn’t placate Thorin in the slightest, for it was a sad, fleeting thing, there and gone in an instant. “Perhaps, but it will soon be better.” He reached into his coat for… something.

Before Thorin could even register what was happening, Bilbo wound up and _threw_ whatever it was at him. For the blink of an eye, he saw a sparkling object hurtling through the air, then something struck him in the forehead with great force, and everything turned black.

***

Hobbits, it must be said, have excellent coordination between eye and hand. This is an innate talent, something with which most of them are born, and they hone this as children and tweens for many of their games use this skill. They take great delight in skipping stones across any bit of still water, shying rocks as close as they can to a squirrel’s tail without hitting it, and, in colder months, playing conkers and darts.

It’s been said as well that a hobbit with a bag of rocks is as dangerous as an Elven archer… even if his range is shorter.

But the truth of the matter is that all these games are not entirely for fun. They are also a kind of training, though not for fighting as other races know.

Hobbits are simple folk, much more concerned with food and family, gossip and gardening than in gathering any other kind of wealth. But occasionally, a hobbit will become overly concerned with hoarding coin. This kind of greediness is sufficiently foreign to hobbit nature that it usually corrects itself, but some cases are severe enough to warrant the application of a very singular treatment that restores the mind to its more normal outlook: the hobbit in question has an appropriately sized stone thrown at their head with sufficient force to knock them over, if not knock them out entirely.

This is the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness.

The cure is left in the hands of the children and tweens, for their skills are always fresh and their aim impeccable… and hobbit skulls aren’t so hard as to necessitate extremely forceful throws such as an adult might make. Most of the time, only a light tap on the forehead is required – it serves as a reminder for the hobbit that such attachment to gold is unnatural, and usually that’s sufficient. Occasionally, repeat applications are necessary – Lobelia Sackville-Baggins being such a case; young hobbits take great joy in refining their skills by pelting her forehead whenever she leaves Bag End after tea, because she has usually secreted at least one of Master Bilbo’s spoons in her pockets. Watching out the window as Lobelia receives no less than two stones to her forehead is, in fact, the only reason he invites her over, though it does take a toll on his silverware.

Bilbo Baggins has reached the end of his patience with gold-mad, thick-skulled dwarves, but he’s got a lovely weighty stone in his pocket, and he had been the conkers champion of the Shire for more than 10 years running.

***

Bilbo had half expected the Arkenstone to bounce right off Thorin’s ridiculously hard head, but it didn’t. It struck his forehead just to the left of center – Bilbo spared a thought to thank the Valar that Thorin hadn’t bothered to don a crown to speak with Bard – and immediately he tumbled down in a heap.

For just a second, Bilbo was frozen with fear; the Arkenstone was quite a bit larger than any other stone he’d ever used when working this treatment, and using a stone too large and heavy could result in serious damage. Then he burst into motion, his heart racing as he scrambled over to kneel by Thorin. But when he touched his fingers to the large blood vessel in Thorin’s throat, the beat of his heart was strong and steady, as was the rhythm of his breath when he listened. Bilbo’s strike had not broken the skin, though the spot of impact already had a goose egg forming, discoloring into what would likely become a spectacular bruise. Bilbo sagged in relief. _He should be fine,_ he thought, _though I certainly don’t envy him the headache he’ll have when he comes to._

Carefully, he rolled Thorin onto his side; while he was almost positive he hadn’t misjudged the strength of his throw, damage was always a possibility, and he’d once seen a hobbit struck too hard come over all strangely for days, even weeks, afterward.

Now the only thing to do was wait. He sat down on the ground next to Thorin, and let the Arkenstone lay where it had fallen. If this worked like it was supposed to, he would have no further qualms on giving the stone to Thorin, for it would have no power over him. He willfully ignored the fact that Lobelia never seemed to come right; she was a special case.

Of its own accord, his hand combed lightly through Thorin’s hair, flowing over the ground around his head like a dark halo. It was tangled and oily, evidence, if any was needed, that Thorin had been so blinded by the treasure that he had not been taking proper care of himself. Bilbo worked his fingers through the snarled strands as best he could, studying Thorin’s face. He looked peaceful now in unconsciousness, something Bilbo had rarely seen. But Thorin’s cheeks were a little sunken, and there were dark crescents beneath his eyes; he had neither eaten nor slept in too long.

It was a good quarter of an hour after Bilbo administered the Ancient and Sacred Remedy that the other dwarves returned to the courtyard. He had long since heard them approaching, but made no effort to pretend that anything had happened other than what had actually happened. They fell silent as they arrived and took in the scene, then began thronging about Thorin’s prone form and clamoring questions until Bilbo’s own head ached in a way that he was sure would rival Thorin’s.

“All of you hush!” he shouted. Surprisingly, they obeyed, but not without some quiet grumbling and the expected pleading eyes from Kíli. “He’ll wake up in a few minutes, I’m sure – I didn’t hit him hard enough to kill him.”

A shocked silence settled over the dwarves at that, and they stared at Bilbo, seemingly amazed.

“With a _rock_ ,” Bilbo clarified, and managed not to roll his eyes. “No,” he added quickly when it seemed the cacophony of questions would start again, shaking his finger at them, “no, no, stop right there. I’m only going to go over this once, and Thorin should be awake for it. Óin, if you would care to check him over, I’m sure we would all be grateful.”

Óin examined Thorin thoroughly, nodding approvingly at the position Bilbo had put him in, taking note of the swelling on his brow where the Arkenstone had struck, moving his limbs to make sure nothing had broken when he’d hit the ground. When he was done, he grunted. “Only thing wrong with him is that bump on his head,” he said. “Like Bilbo said, he’ll come around shortly.”

Just then, Thorin stirred, groaning, and flopped over onto his back. One of his hands twitched toward his head, and he hissed when he touched the bump. “What in Mahal’s name happened?” he asked, voice low. “And why does my head hurt so?” He made no move to sit up or open his eyes.

The Company turned as one to stare at Bilbo, and he raised his hands. “He just got hit in the head with a _rock_ ,” he reminded them.

“Yes, so you mentioned,” Balin said. He rested his fists on his hips, and raised his bushy eyebrows. “You also mentioned an explanation.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin spoke through gritted teeth. One hand still cradled his head, while the other groped for Bilbo. Bilbo took his hand in both of his, and Thorin seemed to relax at his touch. “Did… did you throw something at me?”

“Yes, I did,” Bilbo replied, his voice soft. Muttering broke out from the rest of the Company again, and he glared them quiet once more. “How is your head?”

Thorin opened one eye, then immediately cursed and closed it again. “Like Mahal is using it as an anvil in his forge.”

Óin nudged Bilbo. “Burglar, should he be having such a headache?”

Bilbo nodded. “Trust me. The headache is perfectly normal when applying this remedy. Either his mind is resetting itself after the sickness or I cracked his skull.”

“Cracked his skull?” Óin demanded, aghast, and bent to check Thorin again.

“It’s unlikely,” Bilbo said. “You Dwarves have heads as hard as rocks.” Óin was undeterred, however, and began to probe at the forming bruise, until Thorin shoved his hands away.

“Some harder than others,” Óin muttered, but he sat back, apparently satisfied.

Thorin put his hand back on his head. Lines of pain stood out in his face, and Bilbo shifted, his own culpability threatening to curdle his stomach. _I knew this would happen,_ he told himself, and took a deep breath. _Now I have to see it through._ “Do you want the explanation now?” he asked Thorin. “Or later, when your head doesn’t hurt quite so much?”

“Now, if you please, Master Baggins,” Balin said, and all his usual kindliness had disappeared from his words.

“I’m not asking you,” Bilbo retorted tartly, then tightened his grip on Thorin’s hand when Thorin winced. “Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “Do you feel sick?”

This time, when Thorin pried an eye open, it stayed open, though he grimaced. “No.”

That, Bilbo decided, was heartening; it meant there probably wasn’t any damage… well, other than the obvious. He smiled a little. “Very good. Let’s sit you up and then I’ll give my explanation.”

Bilbo adjusted his grip on Thorin’s arm and helped him to a sitting position; on Thorin’s other side, Óin did the same. With no small amount of groaning and cursing, Thorin sat up, releasing Bilbo’s hand to hold his head. “Now then, Master Baggins,” he said, the words muffled behind his hands.

“Right,” Bilbo said, twisting his fingers together. “Right. My explanation.” He took a deep breath, fighting to find the right words, the ones that would make them understand, then let it out in a gusty sigh. “I hit Thorin in the head with… with the Arkenstone, because that’s… it’s a hobbit remedy for a – a certain affliction. Hitting someone in the head with a stone, I mean, not necessarily the Arkenstone, but any stone, it… it kind of returns the mind to its regular, non-afflicted state.” He gave Balin an expectant look, and his friend did not disappoint; after only a moment, Balin’s bushy white eyebrows rose in surprise, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“And just what ‘affliction’,” Dwalin demanded, bristling, “did _our king_ suffer that hitting him in the head with a _rock_ sounded like a good idea?”

“Dwalin,” Balin began, but got no further before Bilbo interrupted.

“No, no, that’s fair,” he said. “This is a hobbit remedy, not a dwarvish one. I have to ask Thorin some questions to make sure it took, and I think you’ll gather what it’s about from that.” He turned to Thorin once more. “Thorin, while we were in Laketown, what did you promise the people there?”

Grimacing, Thorin said, “That we would take care of Smaug before…” He trailed off, then lifted his head from his hands to stare at Bilbo, his face going pale. “Oh, Mahal’s hammer.”

“And if Bard were to come here and ask for reparations…”

“I’d give it to him gladly,” he replied, closing his eyes. “Except I didn’t, did I?”

“No,” Bilbo said gently. “But if he were to return, would you?”

“Yes.” Thorin leaned back against the wall, putting a hand to his brow and hissing as it came in contact with the lump there. 

Bilbo glanced up at Balin with a smile. “It worked, he’s cured.”

Kíli and Fíli looked at each other, brows furrowed, and Kíli asked, “You… hit Thorin in the head… so he would give Bard money?”

“In part,” Bilbo hedged. “Refusing Bard reparations was part of a… a deeper problem.”

“Gold sickness.” Thorin spoke the words with a great deal of feeling, none of it good. He stared off toward the other side of the courtyard, scowling, refusing to face any of them. “My grandfather was caught in its clutches, and I was no different.” His face twisted with something that Bilbo realized must be self-loathing. “I wanted to bring our people home again, to do better than he had, to _be_ better, but in the end, I was the same as he.”

“Now you stop right there, Thorin!” Bilbo said with heat. He stood up, the better to be indignant, and put his hands on his hips. “You _have_ done that! You have reclaimed your mountain, your _home_!” He lifted his hands and waved them to take in all of Erebor. “You are not your grandfather, no more than I am mine. And if you fell prey to gold sickness…” He let his hands fall. “Well, I suppose we all felt it to some degree… even me,” he admitted softly. “Even a hobbit, one who cares so little for gold, felt its pull.”

“You did?” Thorin asked, turning back to him, his eyes wide. “But you…”

Bilbo squirmed a little. “How do you think I came to have the Arkenstone in my pocket?” he asked, and sighed. While keeping it from Thorin had clearly been for the best, it had still weighed heavily on him all the days they’d been in the mountain. “I am sorry for that,” he added quietly. “I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I did. Smaug said it would drive you mad, and I didn’t want…”

“How, then, did _you_ overcome the gold sickness?”

“Did you apply your _remedy_ to yourself?”

“Well, I could hardly throw a rock at _myself_ , could I?” Bilbo huffed, glaring at the dwarves. They seemed to concede this was an impossibility; at least they stopped hurling questions about like… well, like Arkenstones. “No, it… well, I _hope_ it was just a momentary thing.” His shoulders sagged. “I’m not terribly proud of… of pocketing it, and of course I shan’t protest any blame you lay upon me for it, for I do deserve it. And whatever amends I need to make I shall do gladly.”

“Stop,” Thorin ordered. “You need make no amends for this.”

“But Thorin!” Dwalin said, almost gasping in astonishment.

“You have saved me from myself,” Thorin said to Bilbo, ignoring Dwalin’s protest. “You have likely saved us all from death, for surely that was the direction I drove us.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, his cheeks pinkening. Trust Thorin to think in such grand gestures. In truth, he had mostly been upset with Thorin for not honoring his word, and rather desperately wondering where their next meal would come from. “I – I’m sure I didn’t…”

He was saved from stuttering out an explanation by a very welcome interruption.

“Hello, the mountain!” a great voice boomed from beyond the blocked gate. “It appears, Thorin Oakenshield, that you are continuing to make enemies of friends with your complete lack of tact or charm. Did I not tell you to _wait_ for me?”

_Gandalf_. Bilbo reeled a little at the sudden wave of relief that swept over him. Surely, _surely_ now that the wizard was here, everything would come right. Gandalf just had an air about him that made one believe in… well, happy endings.

“Gandalf!” Kíli cried, oblivious of how Thorin flinched at his volume, and clattered off to the rough-hewn stairs leading to the top of the wall. Most of the others followed, but Dwalin, Balin, and Fíli stayed, and Thorin sighed softly before heaving himself to his feet. Bilbo moved over to make sure he was steady, and had to suppress a wince at the baleful glare Dwalin leveled at him. Balin and Fíli gave him commiserating looks.

“And how am I meant to come in, Master Kíli?” Gandalf called, sounding no end of exasperated. “You’ve walled yourselves in most completely, and as you _did not wait_ as I _instructed_ , I don’t know the location of the other door.”

“We’ve got a rope, Master Gandalf,” Bilbo heard Ori say, and then there was a prolonged silence broken only by grunts of effort, both from the dwarves and the unseen wizard. A clacking and scrabbling heralded Gandalf’s arrival at the top of the wall, and Bilbo glanced up in time to see Dori and Glóin haul the wizard onto the ramparts. Gandalf’s staff nearly whacked Dori in the face.

“Well,” Gandalf huffed, straightening his mud-stained robes. “That was most undignified.”

Bilbo smiled faintly. The sight of the wizard so out of sorts was worth Dwalin’s glower boring into the back of his head.

The lot of them trooped down from the battlement. Bilbo noticed Gandalf studying the courtyard and the way into the mountain proper, and his expression put the hobbit in the mind of distant sadness, the kind of feeling one might have when one saw an old friend after many years and realized suddenly how they had aged. He was now so used to the wreckage Smaug had left in his wake that it was an effort to see past it to any of the splendor that Erebor had formerly displayed.

Thorin stepped forward to greet the wizard, his movement drawing Bilbo from his thoughts. He joined him, because he, too, had things he wanted to speak to the wizard about – such as where had Gandalf been? Durin’s Day was now long past, and he’d only just arrived! Both he and Thorin were pre-empted, however.

“Gandalf!” Kíli said, looking up at the wizard with beseeching eyes. “Do hobbits truly believe that they can cure people of gold sickness by hitting them in the head with a _rock_?” His doubtful tone made Bilbo bristle. Hadn’t it worked?

Gandalf’s sharp gaze flicked from Kíli to Bilbo, then more thoughtfully to Thorin, taking in his haggard features and the bruise on his forehead in an instant. “Did one of you suffer from gold sickness, Kíli?” he asked mildly.

“We only have Bilbo’s word for it,” Dwalin replied, frowning at Bilbo.

“And mine,” Thorin said, his deep voice vaguely irritated.

“It _is_ a real hobbit remedy!” Bilbo protested.

“You don’t count,” Kíli said, flapping his hand at Thorin, oblivious to his glare. “You just got hit in the head with a rock!”

“Sorry, Thorin,” Fíli added, then cringed as Thorin transferred his glower from Kíli to him. “But your judgement _is_ a little suspect right now.”

“If it is a real remedy,” Óin said to Bilbo, “whatever are you hobbits thinking? Do you _know_ the damage you can cause by hitting someone in the head?” He gestured toward Bifur as if in example. 

Bifur frowned under his beard and gingerly touched the axe in his forehead. Bofur patted his cousin’s shoulder and gave Óin a fulminating glare. “That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, we _do_ know,” Bilbo retorted hotly, putting his hands on his hips once more. “That’s why we use _small_ stones and let our _children_ perform it. But you dwarves _clearly_ have skulls made of _rock_ , so I needed something rather larger!”

Before he could take a breath to continue railing at Óin, Bilbo was interrupted by laughter, a great peal of amusement that silenced all of the burgeoning arguments. Gandalf leaned on his staff, laughing heartily, and seemingly uncaring that he was the focus of the entire Company. It was some time before he laughed himself out. 

“Ah, my dear Bilbo,” he said at last, still smiling happily. “It _is_ a very good thing you came along. And yes, Master Kíli,” he went on, “it _is_ an ancient hobbit cure for greediness. I have seen it in action more than once, and it has never failed them.” He chuckled at the astonished expressions the dwarves wore, then turned toward Thorin, his amusement gentling into something warm and comforting. “You need not fear your grandfather’s affliction again,” he said softly, “for you have now remembered that there are things more important than gold.”

Thorin seemed to find it difficult to meet Gandalf’s kindly gaze. “I had hoped…” He swallowed, and Bilbo thought that he had to force the words out. “I had hoped that I was less like my grandfather,” he admitted quietly, “that I would not put gold ahead of lives… and yet I did just that.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, and laid a hand on his arm.

“But you have recovered,” Gandalf said, smiling. “You are no longer in thrall to the gold. And I have no doubt,” he added, “that your intent was only ever to ease your people’s suffering and bring them home.”

“Even the noblest of intents may become… subverted,” Thorin replied, his shoulders sagging. “If indeed that was mine at all. My memory is… less than clear on events since we entered the mountain.” His mouth twisted briefly, and Bilbo tightened his grip on Thorin’s arm. Thorin started at the touch, and turned to him; his next words seemed to be meant more for Bilbo than for Gandalf. “The only thing I’m certain of right now is that I have been too long by myself with only cold coin for company.” He took Bilbo’s hand in his and squeezed it; Bilbo returned the pressure gratefully.

“Then the remedy for that is obvious,” Gandalf said, smile widening so that the lines around his eyes crinkled with good humor. “Join your Company for a meal and good cheer.” Then he lowered his voice so only Bilbo and Thorin could hear. “And do not dwell over long on what might have been, but take comfort in what _is_.”

Thorin nodded solemnly, and loosened his fingers from around Bilbo’s.

“Now then,” Gandalf said, moving toward the entrance to the mountain and patting Bilbo on the shoulder as he passed him. “Let us have that meal, or at the very least, let us have some song – perhaps a lively tune to dance to.”

Slowly, the Company began to shuffle back into Erebor proper. Thorin lingered in the courtyard, watching the others file past. When they had all gone back into the mountain, Bilbo followed, encouraging Thorin to come along with him with a tilt of his head.

Balin waited for them just inside, and Bilbo took a breath, hoping that his friend didn’t want to continue their argument from earlier. But Balin’s eyes were now fixed on Thorin. The rest of the Company dawdled ahead of them in the passageway, trying to eavesdrop.

“I have had… concerns,” Balin began, “since we entered the mountain. I had hoped... well. As you said, I had hoped that you would not fall prey to the gold sickness. But these past few days, it seemed you had.”

Thorin closed his eyes and turned away. “I did.” Bilbo’s heart ached at his defeated tone.

Clearly Balin heard it as well, for, a little hesitantly, he asked, “And you do not… feel the pull of the gold any longer?”

Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that the Company shuffled backwards in order to better overhear.

“No,” Thorin answered, his tone curt, as if he wanted that to be the end of it.

“What is different between now and before?”

Thorin came to a stop as he noticed the rest of the Company waiting on his answer; his fists clenched at his sides, and seeing that was the very last straw for Bilbo. “Clear off, you lot,” he ordered sharply. “Every single one of you deserves to be pelted in the head with a stone of your very own for the way you’ve acted the past few days! All of you with your eyes fixed on the gold and nothing but, no thoughts in your heads except to protect it at all costs, and never mind that all anyone would have to do is wait a week and we’d have died of starvation! I should do it anyway, and then we’ll see if _you_ want to talk about the difference.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, low and calm. “You need not.”

“It’d be easy to arrange,” Bilbo muttered. “All I’d have to do is line them up in front of the gold and knock them down, neat as pins.”

Thorin smiled briefly at that, as Bilbo had intended.

Some of the dwarves opened their mouths to respond to Bilbo’s statement, but backed down when Bilbo stooped to pick up a rock, glaring at them all the while.

“I reckon we ought not piss off the hobbit right now… or maybe ever,” Nori said, not quite _sotto voce_. Or perhaps he intended to be heard; Bilbo wasn’t quite sure. But Nori’s words did placate him enough that he dropped the stone. It helped that Gandalf herded the Company into motion again, winking at Bilbo as he did. Bilbo summoned a grateful smile.

“Language,” Dori chided with the air of someone who knew the person he scolded wasn’t going to listen.

“Maybe it should be a rule?” Ori offered. “I mean, if we were to make a list of rules, I think that would be the first one – don’t piss off a hobbit.”

“Rather too late for that,” Bilbo said under his breath. Thorin heard him, however, and snorted.

“Ori!” Dori gasped, scandalized by his brother’s choice of word.

“Perhaps,” Balin interrupted, “a better wording would be _don’t make a hobbit angry_. Less vulgarity will be all to the good, as this will be an official set of rules.”

“Will it?” Thorin asked, but quietly enough that Bilbo was sure that nobody else heard him.

“Oh, aye,” Glóin said, “but it lacks the _oomph_ of _don’t piss off a hobbit_. It should have some punch behind it, shouldn’t it?”

Dori groaned, a sound absolutely full of despair that Ori should be listening to such words. _As if,_ Bilbo thought, amused in spite of himself, _he hadn’t had months’ worth of journey to learn them, and worse besides._

“It can’t be a list of one rule, though,” Ori said, quite pedantically in Bilbo’s silent opinion.

“Yes, a list does rather imply more than one,” Balin said, and Bilbo could only imagine the indulgent smile that accompanied his indulgent tone. “We shall have to include other rules as they come to us.”

“Too bad hitting someone in the head with a rock isn’t a remedy for foolishness,” Bilbo muttered. Thorin chuckled softly, and it warmed Bilbo to hear it. _I’d be willing to make scathing comments forever for such a reward,_ he thought.

They lagged farther and farther behind the rest of the Company, and while Bilbo normally would have been quite keen on a meal – he _was_ terribly hungry – he knew that only scant travel rations awaited them, and he wasn’t nearly as eager for that. 

Besides, he was rather more interested in walking with Thorin, now that he was himself again, even if they said nothing. It reminded him of their time at Beorn’s, and nights afterward where they spoke quietly together around a campfire.

They were nearly at their campsite when something jogged Bilbo’s memory. “Oh dear, the Arkenstone,” he said, turning around. “I forgot to pick it up.”

“Leave it,” Thorin said, taking Bilbo’s hand to stay him. “Someone can fetch it later.”

The last bit of tension that had wound itself tight in his shoulders relaxed in a rush at Thorin’s words. _This,_ then, was the Thorin that he had come to know on their journey, the one he had vouched for in Laketown; firm but fair, honorable, honestly more concerned with reclaiming the Lonely Mountain as a home for his people rather than for the wealth it contained.

“I _am_ sorry,” he said suddenly, “for listening to Smaug and keeping the Arkenstone from you. I had no right—”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted softly, and Bilbo fell silent. “It is as I said – you have saved us again, and I cannot find it in me right now to be angry, nor do I think I will in the future. How could I be angry with you for saving our lives… for saving my sanity?”

“I should have gone about it more openly, never mind what Smaug said,” Bilbo replied. “The Arkenstone was a terrible weight on my heart the whole time I had it. I wished more than once that I hadn’t ever seen it.”

“Then perhaps you weren’t suffering from gold sickness at all.” Gandalf’s voice floated over them. Bilbo twitched at the sound, and half-turned, but stopped when Thorin did not release his hand. The wizard stood by the entry to the campsite, packing his pipe almost absently. “Hobbits are known to be extraordinarily resilient when it comes to evil influences… and I’m sure that a conversation with a dragon would qualify as such, wouldn’t you?” He lit his pipe and puffed at it in a way that Bilbo felt was very pointed.

“I believe it would,” Thorin agreed, his mouth tilting up in a lopsided grin.

“But I might not have said anything at all if—” Bilbo stopped himself, then sighed. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thought. “If I hadn’t gotten angry at what you said to Bard.”

“I have said a great many things in the course of our journey that have made you angry,” Thorin said, his voice low.

“And I have frequently wanted to lob a stone at you,” Bilbo retorted, softening his words with a smile. “But… what you said to Bard – that wasn’t _you_. I wouldn’t have vouched for that dwarf to the Master. I knew it was the gold sickness that… that Gandalf and Lord Elrond had spoken of in Rivendell. And I realized… if gold sickness was a kind of greediness, then I knew the cure for that.” He gestured vaguely with his free hand toward the courtyard and the gate, where the Arkenstone lay. “More importantly,” he added, somewhat more hurriedly, “we were running out of food.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Food is a subject very near and dear to a hobbit’s heart.”

“More like to his stomach, I believe you’ll find,” Bilbo shot back, smirking. Thorin huffed a soft laugh, and the sound warmed his heart once more. It made it easier to admit his own wrongs. “Thorin, if you do feel angry that I… I burgled the Arkenstone, I know I deserve it.”

Thorin didn’t sigh, but Bilbo had the sense that it was a very near thing. “Since we both regret our recent actions, perhaps we can… help each other ease our guilt. I will tell you, Bilbo, that I would much rather have a headache from being cured of gold sickness – even one ten times worse than this – than to know my actions have led to death and ruin. I am grateful that you followed us that morning, my dear hobbit, for no other could have done what you have.” It was growing darker in the passageway, but even so, Bilbo knew that Thorin’s eyes were fixed on him. 

Before he could demur or say something that would put his great big foot in it, Gandalf spoke again. “If the first rule is _don’t make a hobbit angry,_ ” he said, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth, barely visible in the warm glow from his pipe, “then perhaps the second rule should be _when gold sickness occurs, find a hobbit._ ”

“I don’t believe that will be a problem,” Thorin replied, though he did not take his eyes away from Bilbo.

“Oh!” Bilbo wanted to put his hands to his cheeks to cover them, for he was sure they were quite red, but, well, Thorin was still holding one. “Well, if that’s your roundabout way of asking me to stay…”

“It’s not,” Thorin replied, then seemed to realize how that could be taken, and very hurriedly added, “I meant only that… that gold sickness would no longer be a problem.” He paused, his grip tightening on Bilbo’s hand, and when he spoke again, it was with that soft earnestness that Bilbo could not find it in himself to deny. “I would, however, very much like you to stay.”

His cheeks were so hot now Bilbo was certain his face must be aflame. “I should very much like to stay as well... for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You will always have a place with me,” Thorin said, and his words carried all the solemn force of a vow.

Completely at a loss for words, Bilbo could only squeeze his hand. When he dared glance toward Gandalf, he discovered that the wizard had returned to the rest of the Company.

And if he dared do more than simply hold Thorin’s hand, that was between him and Thorin.

After a long moment, Thorin said, “Perhaps young Ori had the right of it, for it would behoove us to remember how hobbits cure dwarves of gold sickness.”

And _that_ , Bilbo knew, meant that not only would that ridiculous list stay, it would grow. Well then – in for a penny, in for a pound. “Only if the third rule is _always offer a hobbit a meal, because if he’s with dwarves, chances are he’s missed one._ ” He wrinkled his nose. “That could use a little revision.”

Thorin smiled at him, warm and pleased. “You can work on it over a meal.” He offered Bilbo his arm.

The smile Bilbo gave Thorin as he took his arm was positively _beaming_. “What an excellent idea.”

***

June 12, 2020  
Revised October 13, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this prompt](https://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14785.html?thread=26778049#t26778049) on the Hobbit Kink Meme.


End file.
